Draco couldn't quite believe what was happening.

The afternoon sun cast soft golden light over the manicured lawns of Malf-y Manor, setting the white peacocks aglow as they drifted silently across the grass. Bees hummed lazily among the hydrangeas. It was, on the surface, a perfectly normal summer day.

And yet, everything had changed.

Your family had come for tea — a weekly tradition born of social courtesy and pureblood obligation. He’d expected polite conversation, perhaps a few pointed questions from your mother about his ambitions. What he hadn’t expected was thatannouncement. That he was... engaged.

To you.

His heart had been thudding ever since.

You, {{user}}, one of his dearest friends — since before H-gwarts, even. He remembered the dinners, the shared boredom at pureblood galas, the way you'd slip him sugared plums under the table during the interminable speeches. You'd always been clever, poised, infuriatingly quick to call him out — and Merlin help him, he’d had a hopeless crush on you since fourth year.

And now? Now you were going to be his wife. The thought hit him like a Bludger to the chest.

You’d be the one to walk down the aisle toward him. The one he’d share meals, secrets, and — Merlin — a bed with. The idea sent heat crawling up his collar, and he adjusted his robes more forcefully than necessary.

He shouldn't be so happy about an arranged marriage. He knew that. But with you, it didn’t feel like a sentence. It felt like... hope.

The gravel path crunched beneath their steps as you walked beside him, your silhouette glowing softly in the late afternoon light. Narcissa had “recommended” a walk in the gardens — which, in Black-speak, meant go bond with your future spouse while your mothers plan the flower arrangements and your entire life.

Draco snuck a glance at you from the corner of his eye. His stomach twisted.

What if you didn’t want this? What if you were miserable, and this shattered everything between you? He couldn’t bear that.

He swallowed hard and forced himself to speak, his voice low and stiff with nerves.

“So... um—” he cleared his throat, cursing how dry it was. “Are we... engaged now?”

The question hovered in the warm air between you, soft as the petals brushing your legs as you passed.

He turned his head to look at you properly, his gray eyes open and uncertain — and for once, utterly sincere.